SelectionIll
Bluelighter
yea, that's right. she's the only person that isn't writing to save something, or lose something, or convince me of something, or develop a new way to do any of the things above.
and the best part is, she probably doesn't even care if i like her writing or not.
(boy, i sure hope iloveyouwithaknife is a girl, or i'm going to look really foolish)
seemore
p.s. oops, i just realized there isn't a poem or story on this post, and seeing as it would be foolish to just have it deleted for not adhering to the rules, here's a poem from my file cabinet:
'requiem for a living friend'
he was always so sad.
everytime i saw him he looked so much younger than the time before.
his olive skin a purplish blue under his big sad sorrowful eyes.
if he hadn't ever put pen to paper, and pain to pen, he would have been a poet none the less.
his soul stretched across this, our hollow bubble, and like a spiders web, felt every tremor, no matter how small, and it shook him, till all he could do was huddle in a corner, covered and safe under his blue blanket, a modern day linus with a penchant for opiates.
each poem, a page in a breast pocket notebook,
each woman, a wife,
each meal, a banquet,
each friend, a brother.
i cannot say i miss him.
that could be mistaken.
i long for him.
i hold my headphones on tight, and listen to old tapes,
just to hear his whisper, he sounds like an old record player choked with dust.
i always told him to speak up,
to me,
to everyone,
because we all needed to hear what he said.
now,
i just wish he'd speak.
where are you, brother?!
i'm on my porch, shielding a single candle, to light your way home.
[ 21 January 2003: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
[ 22 January 2003: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
and the best part is, she probably doesn't even care if i like her writing or not.
(boy, i sure hope iloveyouwithaknife is a girl, or i'm going to look really foolish)
seemore
p.s. oops, i just realized there isn't a poem or story on this post, and seeing as it would be foolish to just have it deleted for not adhering to the rules, here's a poem from my file cabinet:
'requiem for a living friend'
he was always so sad.
everytime i saw him he looked so much younger than the time before.
his olive skin a purplish blue under his big sad sorrowful eyes.
if he hadn't ever put pen to paper, and pain to pen, he would have been a poet none the less.
his soul stretched across this, our hollow bubble, and like a spiders web, felt every tremor, no matter how small, and it shook him, till all he could do was huddle in a corner, covered and safe under his blue blanket, a modern day linus with a penchant for opiates.
each poem, a page in a breast pocket notebook,
each woman, a wife,
each meal, a banquet,
each friend, a brother.
i cannot say i miss him.
that could be mistaken.
i long for him.
i hold my headphones on tight, and listen to old tapes,
just to hear his whisper, he sounds like an old record player choked with dust.
i always told him to speak up,
to me,
to everyone,
because we all needed to hear what he said.
now,
i just wish he'd speak.
where are you, brother?!
i'm on my porch, shielding a single candle, to light your way home.
[ 21 January 2003: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
[ 22 January 2003: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
